


Order of Magnitude

by withlightning



Category: Muse
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-24
Updated: 2010-09-24
Packaged: 2017-10-12 04:06:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/120571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withlightning/pseuds/withlightning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sinking has never before felt so sweet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Order of Magnitude

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Originally posted [here](http://community.livejournal.com/withthunder/2198.html#cutid1), June 1st 2010

You stare at the dark sky, feel the strengthening wind; catching your shirt and making it flap in the swirling air, breezing against your cheek, against your temple and gliding through your hair. You can smell the oncoming storm in the air, the way it crackles with barely contained energy, creating clammy feel on your skin and raising the fine hair on your body up, pin prickles running up and down and you once again marvel in front of nature, wonder its almightiness and find yourself scanning the horizon in the hopes of lightning.

You feel creative; the notes dripping from the unconscious part of your brain to the part that makes the music alive, makes the notes take form in something beautiful, something brilliant and you smile. Closing your eyes you enjoy the rush of emotions, the rush of notes making sense only to you and you imprint them, carve them into your chest, letting them evolve before you go and sit in front of a piano and let the music out.

Now, though, now you're content to stay where you are, to let the static air caress you, to hear the low rumble emanating from around you and you notice the wind picking up, thinking it won't be long now.

You get wrapped up in the feeling, the anticipation giving you goose bumps and everything stands still, waiting for the sky to finally give in, to let the heavy rain fall down. You're not the only one quiet; even the nature around you is still, birds and crickets sharing this magical moment, electricity palpable.

And suddenly you feel something, feel someone entering your space, joining to witness this amazing spectacle about to begin and you can't help thinking; _perfect_.

Tilting your head up, you inhale slowly and exhale peacefully, and as the first drops fall on your cheek, your nose, forehead and chin, you smile wide. You can still hear the notes tumbling, craving to be freed - the same time as the loud crack as the sky opens and the rain gets rapidly heavier.

You know you're being watched; you can feel the gaze roaming on your face, on your damp hair and exposed throat, can feel the silent awe and wonder; the childlike curiosity and the need to reach out and touch.

The sky flashes and rumbles loudly at the same time, lightning every nook and cranny of the clouds, filling the imperfections with its pattern, rejuvenating their purpose and you sense a tentative hand closing on your arm.

Mesmerized, you stare at the snaking, bright stripe on the horizon, the way it strikes and stays, like it was painted and meant to be, meant to be seen and it's timeless and ancient and new, and you feel like breaking, like snapping under the sheer beauty and mightiness of it.

You turn around, ever so slowly, the rain whipping against your side.

And you see him.

There are no words, you need no words because it's all there, laid in front of you and your breathing hitches and stops altogether for a moment, like you suddenly forget to breathe; forget something so natural because of this, because of him and the time just stops.

You can see every drop of water falling down, hitting his wild strands, gluing his lashes, clinging on his lips and running down his jaw before dropping on his shirt and absorbing into it. You see his eyes, dark and surprisingly serious, intense and stormy with barely contained ferocity, just like the sky was a moment ago and you know. You just know, because you know yourself and you know him and you know _you_. You realize you've known all along, just like he has and your traitorous mind flashes to sleepless nights and sounds, rhythmic sounds twirling their way to your ears from the room next to you, like another drum riff being born, so undoubtedly him, and the other, more high-pitched voice that turns into another meaningless, unknown face in the pale morning light; flashes to the uncomfortable silence surrounding you, cocooning you in its false safety; flashes to the raging, hurtful arguments full of doubt and insecurity and resilience; flashes to the shaky truce, the kind that could break from the slightest mistake, the mistake you avoid making at all costs, because you knew - even back then, what you most certainly now do; flashes to the bright, sunny and carefree smile of his, to the beatific glee of triumph, to the devious grin of a great idea, all the way to the soft, unguarded and deep smile, his eyes amazed and shining with merriment -- and snaps back to here and now and this.

Feeling his fingers tighten on your arm, as if to pull you out of your trance - not pressuring, not expecting anything - you lift your own hand, slightly shaking with the acknowledgement and gently curve your palm against his slippery neck, fingers landing to rest on the place where skin meets hair and your thumb slides over and over on the side of his jaw.

You think about how long you've wanted to do this; how long you've been wondering about how his lips would feel against your own, how his hands would feel entangled in your out-grown hair and the sky flashes again, followed by loud crack, surprising you both and you gravitate closer, unconsciously, always gravitating towards each other; all these years, all the laughter, all the pain, all the distance and closeness in between: all leading to this moment and you don't think about it anymore, you can't help it, can't stop it, can't deny it any longer and you pull him at the same time as you go forward and you meet in the middle.

It's everything and nothing and so much more than you ever imagined it could be.

Soft, rain-slicked, warm lips touch yours, pressing willingly, determinedly and you press back, tilt his head in a better angle -- and yes, God.

It's the way of kissing him; how it's effortless and rewarding; how he fits, how you fit; how he makes tiny sounds in the back of his throat and how you swallow them - how you make them yourself, that make you feel light-headed, even with the cool, pouring rain soaking your clothes and running in cold rivulets down your back.

You feel the need, the want rising, lodged deep into your spine and spreading to heat your stomach; feel the massive dollop of it threatening to break free from your chest, mingled with the earlier notes and new notes, forming something forceful, something utterly beautiful and scary altogether; and the want, it's primal and all-consuming, trying to swallow you whole and you're already sinking, already letting it take you with it, unable to stop it.

Sinking has never before felt so sweet.

He steps even closer, your chests touching and you move your hand from his cheek to his neck, wrapping your other arm on his lower back and you feel him shiver, feel him shaking and his kisses turn more heavy, taking a desperate edge and you comply, taking his lead and you surrender; you give yourself up, give in to him, just like you always knew you would.

You find his touch sparkling, his lips addictive and his warmth only for you, like he's alive because of you, like you're making him alive, like you're the one who gets him, who makes him feel and desire and you know it's the truth from the way he devours you with all his being; with all his shaggy blond hair plastered on his head, your hand massaging gently the skin beneath; with his cool fingers finding your back, sneaking under your wet shirt, warming up instantly against your heated side; with his hungry lips wanting more, his eager mouth exploring yours, melting, fitting, belonging. It's exhilarating and exciting and familiar and you can't help the smile curving on your lips.

Because this? This feels like learning to play piano all over again, like creating a symphony; feels like happiness and joy; like finding out what's truly important, like saving the world. This feels like everything.

As you smile harder, he starts to share your glee, kisses winding down in intensity, hand still rubbing half-circles on your damp skin and you realize you forgot the rain, because suddenly you can feel it again, inside your shoes, wetting your socks and can hear it thrumming against the pavement, hard and cold and as you stare into the bright, grey eyes in front of you, you let go of his head and slowly lower your hand along his shoulder to his arm, all the way down to his fingers gripping your hip tightly and you wrap your own fingers around his, taking a hold of his hand. He slots your palms effortlessly and you hold on to each other.

Instead of awkwardness or resentment or regret, you meet a shy, private smile – positively beaming smile you've never encountered before and it makes you want to grab him again, this time not stopping, but you resist, barely, because you know you have all the time in the world. You've always had it, now you just share the knowledge and it's a magnificent melody that fills you, a gorgeous composition and the urge to pin it down, to let it soar gets more pressing by the second. He sees it in you, can feel it like you do and he beams at you; teeth white and scrunching nose and glinting eyes and you drink him in; all the beauty of him, all the luck of you and you find no words; there are no words and he knows this, too, and tugs your hand gently.

You go willingly, shivering from the cold and happiness and flying notes, following him, warm hand tight in yours and as the sky lights up once again, you don't see it. It's like the order of magnitude: you only see him. And you think again, _perfect_ – and taste the rainwater. And smile.

  
\- Fin


End file.
